


Translation

by DLanaDHZ



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DLanaDHZ/pseuds/DLanaDHZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the first time you meet someone, you can usually tell how well that relationship is going to go. For Arthur, this was one of those meetings you knew was going to screw up your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom brings Eames to meet Arthur for the first time.

From the first time you meet someone, you can usually tell how well that relationship is going to go. Someone is a jerk to you or your friends, or perhaps they're hostile to someone you don't even know, but you see it. They yell at you or they pick on you. Maybe they just give you a bad look. On the other hand, they may smile and joke with you. They could be sweet, or dull, or maybe romantic. Not necessarily nice, but definitely not mean.

There are people you meet and you simply know that they will end happily as friends or perhaps lovers or more. There are people you meet and know that in a week or two, you'll have forgotten their names and will never see them again. Then there are those people you meet where you just know things will go wrong.

"Name's Eames."

This was one of those meetings.

Arthur had definitely been calibrating the specificity of the new compounds to make sure the machine didn't give too much too fast and send them all into limbo forever when the door opened behind him. He'd heard Cobb speaking quickly but calmly to someone new. Oh right. Today, Cobb was meant to be bringing in the new forger.

When the point man turned around, however, he saw something quite different than he'd expected. There was Cobb, standing just inside the door, talking with a smile on his face and basically luring the other man inside, as though he had to convince the new team member that this was worth his time. And then there was the new forger. He was gruff and unshaven in a coarse yet 007 sophisticated kind of way. He wore a shabby three-piece suit, as though Cobb had rescued him from a bar fight and a mugging simultaneously. The man definitely looked like he was a drinker.

He looked over at Arthur, the only other person in the building, and seemed to consider him, wondering who he was, while he brought his hand up to his mouth and blew gingerly on a scrape he had across the back of his fingers. It looked like a knife wound. Arthur took in the sight of the man, beaten up and drunken but with sense enough about him, and swallowed forcefully.

The door shut behind the forger, clanging loudly and shutting out the sunlight. Arthur jolted in surprise before quickly turning back to his work. He began unwinding some tubes for Cobb and the new man to use, but then a hand hit his shoulder.

It was Cobb. He was still smiling, a smile that made Arthur believe Cobb had done more than just find this guy in a bar. It was a smile of confidence and excitement, a sort of energy and passion for the prospect of a new member the likes of which Arthur hadn't seen on Dom's face since his marriage to Mal. That fact seemed to finally click to Arthur, and the sound of the world began to translate properly in his ears. Suddenly, he could not only hear and see Cobb talking, he could also understand it.

"This is Arthur. He's my point man," Cobb was saying. Arthur gave a half smile and continued to mess with the machine on the table before him, his back to the other two.

"He any good?" the new man asked, voice not as rough as Arthur had expected, and he was apparently British. Arthur swallowed again and turned his head the slightest of minimal degrees to try and take a second look at this stranger.

"Best of the best," Cobb assured, squeezing Arthur's shoulder. "He can get you any information about a target that you need. He's skilled."

"Oh, I'm sure," the Brit mused, and Arthur didn't think he was still talking about extraction.

"Arthur, this is Mr. Eames. He'll be joining us for this next job and then perhaps some after that if he likes the way it works out," Cobb explained.

Based on the rules of engagement and propriety, now would be the optimum time to turn and greet this new member. Arthur took a steady breath and turned around with a smile. He found the British man closer than he'd expected, standing there almost lazily and looking expectant. When Arthur opened his mouth but failed to speak, Eames stepped up to the challenge. He smiled wickedly.

"Pleasure to meet you. Name's Eames," he greeted, holding out his hand. Arthur gave a half-sour smile and took the hand.

"A-Arthur," he stumbled out. Cobb didn't seem to notice the stutter, but Eames did. He watched Arthur as though he could pry open the point man's secrets without the use of his dreams. It sort of unnerved Arthur and he adopted a glare.

"Pleasure," Eames repeated. He looked snarky, like he knew something Arthur didn't. Arthur didn't like that.

"Good," Cobb interjected and pat Arthur's shoulder before finally releasing it. "Mr. Eames, please take a seat and we'll get started."

"Just Eames, please," the rough male requested, eyes never leaving Arthur's. Arthur stared determinedly back. "Mr. Eames is my late father." And he finally lifted his stare off Arthur and looked over at Cobb getting ready in a chair. "Just makes me feel a bit old, if you know what I'm sayin."

"Fine by me. Arthur, give us ten minutes, would you?" Cobb said. Arthur nodded curtly and turned back to his machine. He handed a tube to Eames, who let his pinky drag against Arthur's hand.

"Much obliged, sweetheart," he thanked and took his seat. Arthur refused to show anything but his blank seriousness as he turned to the machine, punched in the number and pressed the button. He watched Eames fall under and then frowned, no… he pouted.

What was this man playing at? Was he trying to be seductive or just asserting his dominance? What was going on in his brain… but then again, a forger was always hard to read. They were such masters at changing their game depending on who was playing. Arthur refused to be a part of this game… but he couldn't let this new man affect his work. He still had to complete his duty to the best of his ability.

Still… watching the new forger sleep on that chair was making Arthur think. Despite his brain reminding him not to care, he was still trying to imagine what could possibly have been going on in Eames' head, trying to make it translate properly in his own mind. It was like one of those first meetings, where you were pretty sure life was going to end up being less comfortable with that person around, how you just knew things wouldn't be simple anymore.

It was one of those meetings you knew was going to screw up your life.


	2. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames do their first dream sharing.

In a dream, anything can happen.

In a dream, you can fly or breathe under water. You can turn the sky purple and say it's normal on Tuesdays. You can be half bird and no one would care. That is, of course, unless you're dream sharing. It was also hard for those types of dreams to be believable to you once you'd navigated other people's dreams so often. It was still possible, but so rare.

Arthur could usually tell he was dreaming. He could always tell something was off. In dreams, and in life, he always tried to manipulate the stairs on his first trip up or down them, just to see if it would work. It was almost like his back-up totem. Arthur could also usually tell he was dreaming by the way people were acting around him. After so many dreams of tip toeing around other people's projections, he was cautious yet poised everywhere he went. Arthur knew how to watch for strangeness.

But it wasn't the dreams Arthur was having trouble with these days. Lately, whenever he would go under to practice with Cobb, he woke up with the distinct feeling of someone having touched his face or arm. At first he'd thought it was just his imagination, but he could tell someone's hand had made a mark in his sleeves after a while. Before a test, he'd smooth himself out, and when he woke up there was definitely an imprint of something that touched him. His face became more obvious too. Because not only did it seem to tingle with a disappearing warmth, but once or twice he also found that spot a bit greasier.

Someone was touching him while he dreamed, and the only possibility was Eames. Their chemist was away and would be away for another two weeks. Eames was the only one here. But why was he touching Arthur in his sleep?

And there he was, Mr. Eames, walking around as though nothing was going on in his weird and twisted mind. Arthur wiped the extra tingle off his face and then pretended nothing had happened either. He took the tubing from Cobb and started to put it away.

"Eames, you should join us next time," Cobb was saying, pulling the forger over with words. "You and Arthur have had very little experience in dreams together, and you need to get more familiar with him."

"I couldn't agree more," Eames said, eyes drifting over to Arthur. Arthur may have had his back to them, but he could feel those eyes going up him like a brush of air.

"Well, Arthur, I'm out. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, alright? I'll try to bring Mal if I can," Cobb said, straightening himself out and fixing his hair.

"Oh, that's right. Today's your anniversary," Arthur said. "Good luck with Mal. I know it's been a rough year." He tried to offer a reassuring smile and held out his hand to shake for comfort. Cobb took it and smiled gratefully.

"Oh, is that why you're all dressed up today?" Eames asked, his smile much larger than either of theirs. "Well good job, Cobb. Give Mrs. Cobb a big hug from me!"

"Will do, Eames. You two play nice. I'll be back tomorrow!" Cobb called as he disappeared from sight. They heard the door close securely behind him, echoing around them and leaving them completely alone.

"You know it's not as happy as you think. Tonight will probably end badly… like with another argument or something," Arthur spoke, voice a bit sour. Eames shrugged and took a seat where Cobb had been.

"Always best to be positive, don't you think?" he asked. "Now why don't we get a bit of fun in before we too retire for the evening?"

"Fun?" Arthur asked, turning and laying a confused look on Eames. The Brit smiled and put a hand on Arthur's hip, a friendly, and yet overly intimate for Eames, gesture.

"Dream sharing," Eames explained as though Arthur were silly for not realizing it. "He said we needed to practice together, did he not?"

"I guess he did," Arthur agreed, looking down at the keypad and the multiple tubes rolled up inside his briefcase. He felt this odd feeling inside, as though dream sharing alone with Eames was potentially dangerous… and not because of the projections.

"Look-see, Arthur. Take out that machine and let's test it out together. Come on. What's the worst that could happen? Not afraid of me, are you?" Eames teased, hand still on Arthur's waist.

Arthur tensed. No. He'd told himself since day one that he wouldn't let Eames get to him, so what was he doing now? Arthur pulled out a tube for himself and then took his place back on the chair, effectively removing Eames' hand from his waist. Eames smirked and got himself prepared as well.

"Sweet dreams, then, Arthur," he said just before they hit the button and drifted off.

Arthur could usually tell when he was in a dream. Some aspects were just obvious. And yet, when he appeared in the dream exactly where he'd left from, he was confused. Without opening his eyes, he was definitely still sitting in that chair in the lab. He could hear the machine making noises beside him, but he didn't feel the sting of the needle in his arm. Had Eames picked out a place from memory?

A hand touched his arm, gently, and another touched his hair. He felt the fingers brush over his gelled back locks and wondered what was going on. Then the fingers left his hair and one dragged lazily down his cheek. Arthur had a sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. He sat up straight and looked at Eames, who was crouched down next to him.

"You've been dying to ask, haven't you?" Eames asked carelessly. Was this man never serious? "You been wondering what happens when you're asleep and I'm not. I've seen you take your precautions just to be sure. I've noticed how you wipe your cheek when you wake. Have you not been a little bit curious as to why?"

"Of course I have," Arthur bit back, voice much more steeled and hard. "But what did you expect? I couldn't just ask something like that. I don't even know how I'd word that."

"Eames, why are you touching me in my sleep?" Eames suggested in a tease. "Seems straightforward enough, don't you agree?"

"You don't just ask things like that," Arthur argued.

"Why not? It gets you to the answer doesn't it?" Eames asked. "Besides, don't you want to know?"

Arthur clenched his teeth, but outwardly didn't change much. He did want to know. He wanted to know what was going on in Eames' head. It was like a completely different language… but he'd never wanted to let Eames know that he was so curious. It was like showing weakness to a great rival.

"Haaa, I can see it in your eyes, Arthur. You can't hide anything from me, especially not in my own dream," Eames teased. "Since you're too proud to ask it, I'll just answer my own question from earlier."

Eames stood and then paced back and forth between Arthur's chair and his own. He did this four times before finally sitting down in his own chair. He looked over at Arthur steadily, that 007 sophisticated look becoming overwhelming in Arthur's view. Arthur turned his gaze away and swallowed heavily.

"You see?" Eames asked. Arthur glanced back up at him. "That was my question all along. Why oh why can Arthur not look at me for longer than a minute? Why does he swallow like that? Is it a nervous habit?"

"No. I just-," Arthur began. Eames held up his hand to silence him.

"My turn, Arthur. You can flub out an excuse in a moment, I promise," he said. He took a deep breath and looked as vulnerable as Arthur had ever seen him, and it wasn't even as vulnerable as Arthur felt in that instant. "Your hair, Arthur, is never out of place if you can help it. And your skin is so fair for a man's. The first time I did it, I was testing just how much grease you must use to keep your hair down like that, and then I was trying to feel stubble on your chin. Alas I have yet to find any. You're very particular."

Arthur struggled not to smile. That almost sounded like a compliment in his ears, but he didn't know if that's how Eames meant it.

"And then I kept doing it because, well quite frankly, I liked it. Your hair isn't hard under all that gel, Arthur. Just draggin a hand across it, you can feel how soft it is. I don't understand it, but I did like it. And you skin is smooth too. I must assume your personality is what drives away all the girls, because your looks are definitely not a problem," Eames said. Arthur frowned. "So it may be a shitty answer, but it's what you're getting. Any comments?"

Arthur turned his whole body to face Eames, sitting the way the other man was, and put his hands on his knees. He took a steady breath and looked into Eames' eyes, something he found even more difficult than simply looking at the other man.

"I don't use gel. I use mousse," he said. And that was all. Silence dragged between them… and then Eames started laughing.

"See? I don't get it!" Eames chortled. "You're so particular and yet you never tried to ask me for the details! Tell me Arthur, were you more worried about the political correctness of asking or about showing any form of interest in me?"

"I-," Arthur tried but failed to bring an answer from his throat. It was just like that damned first meeting. He swallowed heavily and tried again. "I knew from day one that you were going to be a problem."

Eames seemed slightly taken aback by that answer. He frowned a bit. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, get me out of this dream before I spill my secrets to someone I barely know," Arthur replied, straightening his tie and dusting off invisible dirt from his clothes, especially the part where Eames had touched. Eames shifted into a more comfortable position.

"But we have a whole hour in here. This is our chance to remove this 'stranger' barrier you've put up between us. Come now, Arthur. Remember, what happens in a dream, stays in a dream… well, so long as both parties agree not to tell, of course," he said, that wicked smile back on his face.

Arthur frowned and looked at Eames curiously. What was he planning? What friendship did he see blossoming between them? Was there still something Eames knew that he wasn't telling Arthur? Arthur grunted. He could usually tell what was going to happen in a dream. He was going to get shot or chased, the plan would work or it wouldn't, but not this time.

In a dream, anything can happen and the dreamer has the choice of whether or not to tell his friends about that dream. While Arthur doesn't remember everything about the end of that dream with Eames, he does remember that, after that, Eames started nicknaming him 'darling'.


	3. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mal's death, Arthur and Eames have their first big fight.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some wounds will stay with us forever, memories that will never fade. We try to forget the bad moments in life that leave us torn, but there is always that nagging feeling, the sense that something will remind us of those times. Some of these wounds are physical, a scar or a mark that will live on, printed on our bodies against our wills. Some of these wounds are emotional. These wounds sometimes last even longer than a mark, and they can be so much more painful.

A week it had been, a full week since the death of one of their own, of Mal. Cobb was trying to explain it to the police, to the shrinks, to the kids. He was struggling, and no one could help him. Not even Arthur. Arthur had known Mal, had been able to see how different she had become. She was still sweet, but there was such a distance in her eyes those last few months, as though she wasn't really seeing Arthur when he spoke to her. Still, Arthur had never thought she would go and kill herself. And he definitely didn't believe Cobb had done it either.

"Sad times, eh, darling?" Eames began, sitting on the counter by Arthur, who was half leaning on the fridge, fingers gripping the handle. He'd meant to open it and find something to eat, but he'd stopped prematurely.

"I've been in worse," Arthur said, tone deliberate.

"Have you now? Personal or mutual, like now?" Eames asked. "I think I might like to hear about that."

"Yeah, but you won't," Arthur said. "I don't find pleasure in discussing histrionics."

"I'm sorry. The what?" Eames asked, leaning toward Arthur as though that would improve his understanding of the words. Arthur sighed and opened the fridge.

"It means I don't talk about the past, Eames," Arthur murmured as his eyes glanced through the skimpy reserves. "God we need some more food."

"Hang on. Isn't talking about the past something of a specialty of yours? You're a point man, aren't you?" Eames was close enough on that counter to reach out and drag a finger down Arthur's back. The younger man tried and failed to repress a shiver. He turned on Eames with a glare, batting his hand away.

"Not my own, Eames. Drop it," he snapped. Eames smiled and ran his finger along Arthur's jawbone.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look positively dangerous when you glare like that?" he asked. "Don't mind me. I'm just admiring it."

"I'm not a piece of art," Arthur complained, shutting the refrigerator door and walking away. Eames sighed and hopped off the counter.

"No, but you sure are a piece of work," he grumbled. "Still can't figure you out."

"What was that?" Arthur called over his shoulder. He was cleaning, or more pretending to clean. This is what happened every time. Every time he was alone with Eames he suddenly got defensive, nervous, and electric. He couldn't control it, couldn't stop it, could barely hide it.

"I'm wondering when dear Cobb will come back," Eames said, louder and not repeating himself the way Arthur had requested. Arthur shrugged.

"His wife just died and no one will believe he's innocent. The suits are trying to convince him to leave the country until it's all sorted out, but… I don't know if Cobb'll take it. He loves his kids, you know?" Arthur said, organizing papers on his own desk.

Eames came up behind him then, all rugged appearance and hot breath on Arthur's neck. Arthur froze in what he was doing. His eyes slipped closed, and he just felt the path down his collar that Eames' breath was taking. Eames wasn't touching him or speaking. He was just there, close and intimate and breathing slowly.

"What are you doing, Eames?" Arthur finally managed to speak and was proud when his voice was strong and steady.

"Trying to prove to you that I can see through your bullshit," Eames said, voice soft. His face was so close now. Arthur could feel each breath as soon as it left Eames' mouth. Eames hovered just above Arthur's skin and took a deep breath of the scent, his nose tingling the skin a bit as it dropped a bit too close. "Leave Cobb to this depressing time. We don't all need to stay sad forever."

Arthur broke from his frozen mindset and pushed Eames away. He turned and glared at the forger, which he seemed to do more than smiling. Eames looked a bit stunned at this turn of events, but he didn't say anything.

"That's easy for you to say. You didn't know Mal as well as the rest of us," Arthur said, anger hiding behind his words. "And as for how sad I am right now, how I feel… I'm tired of feeling like your pet. I hope you haven't forgotten that I'm a human being, that I'm smart and sophisticated and beyond playing your game."

"Game? What game?" Eames asked, looking honestly confused. Arthur didn't believe it for a second.

"Don't play coy, Eames. The fingers on my jaw, the way you're breathing down my neck, all of it. I can see through this. You're toying with me like a mark. I don't appreciate it," Arthur said, defiant and head held high. Eames seemed to grow dark, though.

"You have no imagination, do you?" Eames asked, voice low and deep. "Who said anything about a game? You may be a mark, Arthur, but you are definitely not a toy. I could predict a toy's thoughts."

"What is this, chess?" Arthur yelled, showing how ruffled he was by all of this. Eames actually looked shocked at the outburst. "Eames, does nothing that's happened in the last week effect you at all? Are you really that careless?"

"Careless?" Eames asked. "I'd wager you've forgotten what we discussed in our dream sharing last week, but I haven't. If anyone is careless in this relationship, Arthur, it's you. You pushed away the memory of our dreams to avoid the issue, but you say I'm the one not affected? This is a rather lopsided issue in your mind, darling."

"Why do you do that, Eames? Why do you insist on calling me darling these days?" Arthur hissed out as though the question was painful. Eames looked aghast, as though Arthur was baffling him with his stupidity.

"It's a damn term of endearment, Arthur! I don't know what else it could be taken as!" he exclaimed. Arthur shook his head.

"On all the marks we've done together, I've never known you to be particularly endearing, Eames," Arthur bit out. "You usually throw around whatever sounds pretty to you and they believe you. I don't even know which words are actually yours and which you heard in movies anymore."

"You think I'm pretending to like you, then, is that it?" Eames asked. "You think I'd risk the kind of drama something like this means with a teammate if I didn't mean it?"

"I think you know you can always leave and run off to… Mombasa or somewhere if it blew up in your face," Arthur replied.

"Mombasa," Eames repeated, a snarky laugh bubbling in his throat. "Why on Earth would I go to Mombasa?"

"I don't know," Arthur sneered. "The bars, the gambling, the girls."

"Arthur, you seem to think you know me rather well, but it may surprise you to know that I do not always think about drinking and sex," Eames said, pushing his coat back and slipping his hands into his pockets.

"At this point, Eames, I couldn't care less. Once you realize I'm a hopeless cause, you'll be on the next plane out of L.A.," Arthur said solemnly and walked off toward the living room area.

"What happened in London?" Eames called after him. Arthur stopped walking and gave the floor a questioning look.

"What?" he asked.

"You heard me. What happened to you in London?" Eames asked again. Arthur turned around and wore an expression torn between anger and utter confusion.

"How do you know about that?" Arthur asked.

"You mentioned it in the dream last week," Eames answered, shrugging a bit and walking closer.

"No I didn't," Arthur argued. "I don't remember that."

"It was after I kissed you, Arthur," Eames began. Arthur flinched. Eames frowned. "That's why you don't remember it, isn't it? You blocked out everything after I got intimate."

"That didn't happen!" Arthur yelled, backing away.

"Yes it did, Arthur. I was there," Eames said. "And something about London won't let you believe that. Now what happened in London?" He was getting louder, probably trying to break through Arthur's thick skull.

"Nothing happened!" Arthur said. "Nothing happened in London, and nothing happened between us last week. I'm done trying to remember your fantasy."

"It wasn't my fantasy, Arthur. You're the one who dreamt up that one, and might I say, it was rather boring. You need to learn to use your imagination more," Eames scolded gently.

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked. "I do my job perfectly. I deal with facts, Eames, not imagination. If you want imagination, why don't you go flirt with Cobb!"

Arthur pressed his lips together and held his breath. He stayed tense and straight, but his insides were burning. He hadn't meant to yell like that. He hadn't meant to get so angry. He wasn't even sure why he was angry. He just knew he felt like a pawn in Eames' hand, a loaded die that was still being shaken up in his fingers. Eames was trying to get him to play the way he wanted to, but Arthur didn't want to. He didn't want to believe he was so weak willed that he had bent to this man's wishes the moment he walked in the door.

"No. You know what?" Arthur said, finding his words again. "I'm done. I'm done with this. I'm going to visit Cobb, and when I come back, we're not playing this game anymore."

Eames didn't speak automatically. He waited until Arthur had snatched his bag off the couch and was heading for the door to say something.

"If that's the way you want it, love," he said. Arthur barely caught it before he ripped the door open, the creak of the door loud and painful in his ears. He glanced back at Eames, who was lazily shifting through the junk in his jacket pockets, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Some wounds stay with us forever. Even when daily life smothers the memories down until you think they're gone, something always comes around to remind us. That's how London was for Arthur. London hangs around in the background, biding its time until you think it can't hurt you anymore… and then it seeps into the edges of your thoughts until it hits you in the one place that can really make you hurt, your heart.

Arthur was usually so straight and serious, so meticulous and perhaps even mundane. He was potentially boring, but he was good at hiding his pains and anger… usually. Eames was a trigger, a poke at London to wake it up. Eames was something Arthur couldn't handle in a proper mindset. Eames would become a wound of his own, a pinprick in Arthur's pride and heart. Hopefully Eames was not a London.

Because some wounds heal in minutes or days, some wounds heal in months or a year, but some wounds stay forever, for time does not heal all wounds.


	4. Translating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-movie: Eames returns to headquarters expecting to be alone only to find Arthur. Time to set the record straight.

It is said that the best time to learn a new language is childhood, because your brain is still forming and absorbing information. You haven't been grounded in your native language as much and can learn the new language much easier and more fluently. Funny how children can better understand a foreign language than adults.

When Eames opened the door to the U.S. base of operations, he didn't expect to find anyone there. Cobb was busy smothering his children. Yusef had booked an instant trip home, determined to devote the rest of his life to avoiding going into the field. Ariadne had felt she needed to return to Paris for a few days to turn in her final projects at school, but she promised she'd be back. Saito hadn't thought they were all worth much as friends after the job. He still talked to Cobb, though, and the rest of them sometimes wondered what exactly happened in limbo, but Saito was definitely different and definitely didn't want to interact with any of them anymore. Eames had been trolling around L.A. for awhile but he'd grown tired of it and decided to come back to the lab and relax. And Arthur… Arthur was supposedly visiting family further East, but Eames didn't have a whole lot of information on Arthur. They still weren't speaking well.

So when Eames locked the door behind him and meandered into the living space, he was much more than shocked to find Arthur sitting on the couch, leaning to his left and staring off into the distance. Or... he looked shocked when Arthur finally took notice of him. Arthur had his head leaning on his left palm, and when he noticed Eames, he only turned his eyes to check that it was really him.

Eames, dressed in his normal drab and carrying a shoulder bag probably full of clothes, looked quite confused to find someone else in the building. Arthur watched as that confusion morphed into unease and then into cool confidence. Unlike usual, Arthur had a pretty good idea of what was going on in Eames' head. They hadn't been alone together at all since before the job. This had to be awkward for them both.

"Hey," Arthur murmured out, mouth partially obstructed by his hand. He kept his eyes on Eames, but his head was still looking slightly to the man's left.

"Hey," Eames parroted. He cleared his throat. "And here I thought I'd have the whole place to myself… What happened to visiting your family?"

Arthur shrugged lazily. "I called. They said they were at the airport… going on vacation."

"Oh? Where's the lovely party off to?" Eames asked, smiling and taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, dropping his bag to the floor. Arthur let out a soft snicker.

"Paris," he said. He turned his head and gave Eames a smile that screamed 'can you believe the irony?' Eames grinned wickedly back and then laughed out loud.

"I wonder what they thought when you told 'em you'd just come from there," Eames mused, leaning lazily back against the couch.

"They didn't think anything. I didn't tell them. As far as they knew, I was in Japan," Arthur said. Eames let out a scoffing laugh and the two lapsed into an easy silence.

It had been a long time, of course. It had been several months without more than one postcard letting them know where he was, and yet Eames had slid right back into their lives as though he'd merely gone on vacation. Arthur's face slipped back into its common, stoic expression, but he didn't stop looking at Eames. The Brit was watching him too.

It had been a long time since the fighting and the dreaming and the talks. It had been a very long time since the day Arthur had first seen Eames, walking in from the bright outdoors and into his life. Such a long time placed upon such small feelings. Arthur turned his head away, replacing his jaw back into his palm. He looked across at a blank wall as though trying to decide how to decorate it.

"It's was fun, you know?" Arthur asked, though he might as well have been directing it at the wall.

"What was? The job?" Eames asked, because it had been exciting and dangerous… but fun? But Arthur was shaking his head.

"London," he explained. Eames closed his mouth, obviously waiting for Arthur to continue. "It was just a little thing that got completely out of hand. Cobb told me to stick to the plan, to do my work, but he teased me too. I was so focused on the job that I didn't even notice… him… He was always there, sticking himself in my business and trying to help. He did that neck thing too, just like you… with his nose against it and everything."

Eames pressed his lips together and Arthur closed his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see the other's expression, not even out of the corner of his eye. He also closed them to help remember everything, to watch it on the back of his eyelids. He let out a long breath of air.

"I didn't even realize what was going on until it was too late. He ensnared me… got my attention and my trust. I thought he was the new sun in our team, you know… the one who keeps everyone happy even when horrible things happen in the dreams. Not to mention I sort of revolved around him. But then we were in the dream, doing our work… and he and I were in the same car."

Arthur heard Eames take a deep breath and continued before he could think too much on the idea and get to the wrong conclusions.

"We were important to the job. We had to distract and create pressure on the mark. Instead, he distracted and put pressure on me. Before I knew what was going on, he'd stolen my gun, shot me in the leg, and handcuffed me to passenger car door. Then…," Arthur pressed his own lips together, remembering all that had happened… He remembered the door opening and being dragged down the highway. He remembered being cut up by busted cars and asphalt and screaming, trying to convince him to stop… and Cobb's car driving behind theirs, off the mission and trying to catch up. Everything being loud and totally off the mark and not driven by points or facts except that they had been betrayed… Arthur had been betrayed.

Arthur took a deep breath and opened his eyes, still looking at the wall. The room seemed oddly silent now without his deep thoughts and memories.

"Then?" Eames pressed, trying to understand. Arthur blinked slowly.

"Then we failed the mission and the projections tore us to pieces," Arthur answered swiftly, sitting up straight. "When we woke up, I was shaking pretty bad so Cobb handcuffed him and that was the last I saw of him. I vowed never to let myself be distracted by fancy words and actions… by anything ever again."

"And that's what happened in London," Eames asked, but it was a rhetorical question.

"And that's what happened in London," Arthur agreed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and fixed his clothing as though leaning over had mussed it all up too much. "I hope that's what you were expecting. You only had to wait most of a year to hear about it. The only other person alive who knows about that is Cobb."

"I'd say that's a bit more than I wanted, but I thank you," Eames said.

"For what?" Arthur looked over at the scruffy man. Eames smiled politely.

"For being honest with me. Even before the accident, you weren't able to do me that much respect," he said. Usually Arthur would find that insulting, but right now he didn't really care.

"A lot changes in a year," Arthur murmured. He appraised Eames with his eyes. As far as he could tell, the other had changed very little… but he did look older, as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while. His clothes were newer than their last meeting, and yet they somehow still looked ragged. There was a new scar on Eames' wrist that Arthur could see when the man shifted and his sleeves lifted up just enough… which is probably how he got a scar in that spot to begin with.

"Yes. But a lot stays the same too," Eames added. "For instance… I hear your imagination is still slim. I mean, we've been in that same hotel almost every time. You need some new material." Arthur went to complain but then Eames cut him off. "And your hair is still stuck with mousse and still soft. Your bone structure is the same, so I assume you haven't gotten into a real fight lately… You still watch the clock like you're waiting for something to happen. You still lose yourself in your work like it's all you care about in the world… and your hands."

"My hands?" Arthur managed to ask despite feeling like something was off inside of him, like he was watching Eames transform into something unrecognizable and yet he liked it. It was a twisting, burning feeling deep in his chest and gut.

"Yes." Eames nodded. "They're the same. You know I've always loved the way your fingers look holding a gun. They're just so nimble. I think it's from always holding so damn tight to your pencils."

"Thanks," Arthur said sarcastically. "And you still look like you just out of a bar fight and left your razor in your last hotel."

"Hey now. Be nice," Eames teased, nudging Arthur with the toe of his shoe. Arthur let out a chuckle despite himself and tried to hide it. "Now now. Nothing wrong with a bit of a laugh. Put your hand down and just enjoy it."

Arthur shook his head and, when he stopped laughing, let out a sigh. He regarded Eames happily, as though remembering something fond. Then he shook he head again.

"You know, I still can't understand you, Eames. I've been angry at you, annoyed with you, upset at your actions and baffled by your words. I've tried so hard to learn to live with you and get used to you, but … I just can't do it," Arthur admitted, sighing and looking at the floor. He put his head in his hands, partially messing up his hair.

Eames didn't speak for what felt like forever. Arthur was remembering, remembering all the times he'd tried to act normal, to maneuver around what Eames was doing. He remembered all the mishaps and messed up facts because of Eames, all the broken pencils and lost papers. He remembered the arguing and the bonding and then more arguing… and yelling when he knew he shouldn't. He remembered all the emotions from day one and how hard it was to figure out what Eames was going to do or what he really wanted. What did he really want?

"Arthur," Eames' voice was much closer, and then the rougher hands wrapped around Arthur's wrists. "Arthur, look at me."

Arthur raised his eyes and saw Eames kneeling in front of him, looking serious and yet strangely kind. It wasn't so much that he looked kind, more that Arthur got that feeling from him. Eames leaned forward toward Arthur and only mildly surprised the point man when he connected their lips. Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned his head away.

"What are you doing?" he asked, defensive but keeping a level tone and volume.

"Helping you translate my language into something you can understand," Eames said. "I want you to understand me."

"What if I don't want to understand, Eames? What if it's too much for me? What if I don't want it?" Arthur asked, fixing a very pointed and intense look on his friend… yes, friend. He felt like he was being too harsh with his tone, but it was necessary. That's what he told himself.

"Well then I suppose I'll be on the next flight out of L.A., headed for Mombasa," Eames said, quoting Arthur from so long ago. It felt like much longer than it was while also seeming relevant and recent.

"Are you serious?" Arthur asked, a bit disbelieving. Eames sighed and dropped Arthur's wrists. He stood up and shook his head as he paced slightly.

"No, of course I'm not! Goodness, Arthur, do you really have such little faith in me after all this time?" the older man asked, stopping in his pacing to look down at Arthur.

"You've been hiding it," Arthur mumbled, casting his eyes downward. "You never told me what happened."

"Happened where?"

Arthur glanced up at Eames. "When you and I shared that last dream together… and I couldn't remember what happened, but you did. I waited for you to tell me what I was missing. Even after you left, I was expecting a letter or something to show up."

"What am I, a mind reader? How was I supposed to know you wanted me to tell you what happened? You blocked it out yourself. Remember it yourself," Eames said. Arthur shook his head.

"I can't!" Arthur exclaimed. He pressed his lips together and his cheeks heated up. He hadn't meant to yell. "I mean, I've tried. I've tried everything. I can't remember. Hell, I can only remember the kiss because you talked about it last time. But that could be just me putting images to your words. And it's all so heavy in my mind."

"Because you're afraid about what intimacy I was talking about? You're so afraid of what may have happened between us that you can't remember," Eames said, voice and expression slightly stunned. It explained so much of this conversation and Arthur's actions during that final week before Eames had taken off. Arthur was worried about what he couldn't remember. He didn't know what they did or what they talked about, how personal they became.

"Well I suppose you could put it that way," Arthur conceded. He shrugged a bit.

Eames bent down again and put his hand out, a gesture to ask for Arthur's. The point man allowed it and put his hand in Eames'. He felt a rough finger caressing his hand, but he was fixated on Eames' eyes, which were level with his and had initiated an intense staring contest with his own.

"Don't let it bother you, Arthur. Nothing happened between us. I kissed you and I held you, but nothing happened. Understand, smart man? Nothing happened. You have my word of honor," Eames assured him.

"Funny. I wasn't aware you had any honor," Arthur said blandly. Eames smirked.

"Shut up," he said and gently bopped Arthur in the head with his free hand. "But seriously, it was just a bit of kissing. I could tell you weren't ready for anything more committal, and you were hiding some pretty messed up insecurity under all your brainiac crap."

"I resent that," Arthur said. "I like my brains."

"Aw, I know you do, darling. I love your bullshit too sometimes," Eames teased.

"Shut up. You're such an asshole," Arthur grumbled, lowering his chin but not his eyes. Eames was still tracing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.

"Mmm, yes, but that's all part of my charm, now isn't it?" Eames cooed. He smiled and leaned in closer to Arthur. "Now, would it be intimately inappropriate of me to ask for a kiss?"

"That almost sounded too smart to be you," Arthur said, raising a surprised eyebrow. Then he smiled and, before Eames could protest the statement, kissed the Forger.

It was one kiss, a soft peck of the lips. Arthur pulled back but he didn't get far. Eames' free hand came up to the side of his head, the fingers curling around the back, and kept him still as the Brit kissed him again and again. Eames gave sweet pecks until Arthur's lips parted to object or breathe or whatever he'd been about to do. Arthur didn't get the chance to do anything, because Eames stuck his tongue in Arthur's mouth, successfully stunning the point man for a moment.

Eames pressed himself closer to Arthur, deepening the kisses with tongues. Eames' thumb was rubbing up against Arthur's earlobe in a forceful but not painful way. It felt unusual, but that in itself made it interesting. Arthur was making sounds, he knew it. He was grunting and trying to convince himself to tell Eames to back off, but he wasn't really speaking. He let Eames dominate and control the moment, a flurry of desire filled kissing that Eames had been holding back on for a year.

What Arthur didn't entirely notice was that Eames had dropped his hand awhile ago. Eames' free hand found Arthur's side, closer to his waist, but not that low. He was holding Arthur, his large, harsh hands trying their best not to ruin the practiced perfection of Arthur while still trying to force their way into his impenetrable personal security. This was a whole new fight for extraction.

Arthur's hands twitched and then held on to Eames' head, one on the back and the other on his neck. Arthur didn't know if he was pulling or pushing Eames, but he felt the buildup of pressure in his arms, in his fingers, that told him he needed to feel the friction of pressing against Eames in some way. It was odd, something Arthur hadn't even felt in London. This felt more intense, like a dam breaking under pressure. Had this been building since day one? Had this been the inevitable outcome despite all of Arthur's struggle?

With a grunt, Arthur ripped his head back from Eames and lowered it till his eyes looked straight down at his own knees. Eames was smiling, he could tell from the way his breathing became staccato with soundless laughs.

"S-shut up," Arthur breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper. Eames's fingers gently pet behind his ear.

"It's alright, Arthur. I always knew you didn't really swing for Ariadne," Eames said. "But may I say… that was a bloody good kiss."

"That wasn't a kiss," Arthur said, voice dark and unbelieving. He raised his gaze to Eames' and seemed to want to glare at him. "That was forceful conversion."

"Ha! Well I hope that's one step closer to translating my thoughts to yours," Eames laughed. He kissed Arthur on the nose and then winked. He let his fingers brush Arthur's cheeks as he pulled away and stood up. It left a tingle on Arthur's skin, the same tingle anyone's fingers would leave if they did that, but it seemed to mean more simply because they were Eames' fingers.

"Are you going somewhere?" Arthur asked, sitting up straighter, alert and like the normal Arthur everyone knew. His hair was all messed up on the sides, however, so it dampened the look. Eames smiled playfully.

"I'm off to unpack myself into one of the rooms, I think. Then I thought I might pop into the kitchen for a beer… unless they don't have one, then I may pop into a dream. It's all the same in the end, isn't it?" Eames asked, musing aloud in one of those ways where you couldn't quite tell how serious he was being.

Eames gave a little wave and turned away. He grabbed his bags and walked down the hall toward the stay rooms. Arthur looked after him, a slightly shocked look on his face. It wasn't that he was surprised by Eames, his face just happened to fall that way while watching Eames leave the room. Instead of doing what he'd normally do, which was let his mind wonder over anything and everything negative Eames could've meant with his actions, Arthur stood from the couch and followed his Forger down the hall.

Arthur had once sworn to never fall prey to petty words and actions, nor pretty shows of affection or pompous shows of skill. He had promised himself not to let himself get in too deep with his emotions ever again. The pain of London was still fresh in his mind, both emotionally and physically, whenever he thought of it. He wouldn't call what he was doing right now 'getting in too deep'. He'd call it… letting himself feel. It had been a long road of training himself not to care. He'd become even more perfect at his job after London… maybe he should thank that job.

Points, facts, and figures were Arthur's specialty. He could translate information about a mark into usable data for everyone to use, for anyone to understand, for himself to make a plan. Eames had always been a language even Arthur's points and graphs couldn't translate. Arthur was much too developed, too old, to change who he was and how he worked. It had taken a lifetime of work to become the man he was, to learn to think the way he did. Learning to translate a language like Eames was going to be hard work, and sometimes Arthur would give up hope… but maybe he'd see enough under the shield of Eames to get him through his loss of will, to keep him trying and working.

As Arthur walked down the halls to the rooms, he wondered how old was too old to learn a new language fluently and how much Eames understood the language of Arthur. Maybe, just maybe, Eames was trying to translate just as much as Arthur.


End file.
